Chapter Seven

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Chapter Seven

Papyrus

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Papyrus paper was not the only use of the flowering fresh-water reed

that grew in great abundance along river banks and in marshes.

There were many things made from this adaptable plant which reached heights of five to nine feet.”

            “This is my favorite kind of weather.” Shem slid off his camel and loosely held the camel’s rope in his open palm as he gazed out over the distant purple mountains. “Slight chill in the air. Blustery wind. I’d forgotten about that amazing view. How long since we’ve been to the marshes on this side of the mountain? It’s impossible to doubt the One True God with a view like that, isn’t it?”

            “You sound like Father.” Ham rolled his eyes and ticked off points on his fingers. “I hate wind. I don’t want to wrestle papyrus reeds today. Snakes skulk in the papyrus.”

Shem chuckled. “Snakes skulk?”

“Alligators do. And you know there are alligators all over the marsh waiting to sidle up and chomp you.” Ham jumped nimbly from his still-standing camel.

Shem blew out an appreciative whistle. “Impressive.” He’d been floating along on a cloud of euphoria ever since God miraculously rescued Father. Even enduring his uncle for the past week hadn’t seemed so bad. Shem knew he’d eventually fret over the urgent need to find a wife again, but not right now. Right now all seemed right with the world. If God could save Father he could do anything. Anything. And watching Father enjoy the company of his long lost brother only added to the happy feeling. Gave Shem hope.

Fortunately, Shem had been able to ignore much of Paseah’s unpleasantness because Japheth had chosen the role of farmer for himself several years earlier. He wanted to remain close to the ark where he could plant and bring in crops and see his wife every day. Over the past few days, that choice of occupation had allowed Shem and Ham to escape much of the tension surrounding Paseah. After all, they had no choice but to continual with their usual job, did they? They had always worked as a team away from the ark on the more adventurous, if sometimes dangerous, task of collecting essentials necessary to supply the ark. They couldn’t forsake their duty now.

Shem smiled at the thought, more content than he’d been in years.

An impatient command from Ham telling his camel to settle down brought Shem out of his reverie. But when he glanced over, the camel was already kneeling, completely docile. Strange. Ham had seemed somehow anxious since he’d spent a couple of hours alone with Paseah. Shem couldn’t quite articulate the problem, but he knew Ham well enough to know something was eating at his brother.

“Problem?” Shem asked.

“I really don’t want to do this today,” Ham snapped.

“All we have to do is load six camels. How long can that take, a few hours?”  

Ham grimaced and refused to answer. Shem understood why some people used the expression “Brother!” to vent frustration and disgust.

“Tell you what. I’ll cut, you tie the plants into bundles and load.” Shem stripped off his outer garment and tied up his tunic with the leather belt he used for especially dirty work. Tossing his outer clothing on the ground, he pulled out a long knife and tested the blade with his thumb. Sharp. Good.

Shem waded into the marsh. Numbingly-cold water swallowed his feet, sending a shock through him. Whew! Goose flesh rose on his arms. “You don’t have to worry about snakes or alligators today,” he called over his shoulder to Ham. “Too cold.” He could see his brother hobbling the camels; preparing them for the next few hours of work. Shem had left Paseah’s nasty camel, Buzz, home with Japheth and Father even though Father had urged him to take the animal along because of his massive size and strength. That beast was one problem Shem did not need today.

The dense papyrus surrounding him towered several cubits over his head. A few of the slender stems rising from the murky water still supported spiked fan-like flowers. Today he would cut off those blooms and discard them.

He reached below the surface past his elbows and dug into mud, feeling around for the thick rhizomes where stems originated. Finding a tuber, he cut off five of the maroon leaves submerged at the base of one stem, sawed through the stalk itself, and javelined the plant to Ham.

The morning wore on, the weather warmed and no dangerous reptiles made an appearance. Eventually, confident no alligators or snakes hid in the reeds, Ham splashed out to collect the plants from his brother. As Shem harvested, Ham gathered the stems into bundles and carried them on his back to load onto the camels. They worked as one man, exchanging few words.

Near midday, Shem pulled up a long section of starchy rhizome for Mother to roast in a hot oven for the family’s evening meal. He sliced off a short piece for himself and washed it off. Knowing how Ham hated raw papyrus, Shem tossed a grin his brother’s direction as he popped the tidbit into his mouth.

“Disgusting,” Ham curled his lip. “Why do you chew that stuff?”

“I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“You like Mother’s vegetable stew when she adds papyrus.”

“That’s different. Boiled tastes better.”

Shem hooted and spat out the remains of the chewed tuber.

“That’s ghastly.” Ham scowled and averted his eyes. As he did so, Shem spotted slight movement just beyond his brother. A pair of eyes slid toward Ham over the skin of the water.

“Behind you!” Shem yelled. Without a second thought, he dived for the beast and grabbed his tail, yanking the rear end of the animal out of the water. Ham took off running. The gator curled back upon Shem, mouth baying, aiming for his face.

“Help me!” Shem shouted.

Halfway up the bank, Ham paused to look at Shem with wild unseeing eyes. He turned and scrambled onto the grass.

Shem was stunned by Ham’s retreat. Alone now, he hugged the gator’s massive tail to his chest, desperate to keep the strong back legs out of the water. The alligator thrashed back and forth like a whip. Shem felt himself losing his footing. Man and animal splashed into the water. Shem held onto the tail with everything in him. He kept it pressed against his chest so the creature couldn’t reach him with its deadly jaws.

The alligator rolled in the water, whipping his tail to shed the man. Pushing off the bottom with strong legs. Round and round. Dunking Shem. Drowning him. Each time Shem’s face broke the surface, he gasped for breath. He wouldn’t last much longer.

Finally, at the top of a revolution, he saw his brother plow into the water, rope in hand. White-faced, Ham lassoed the top of the gator’s open mouth. The creature continued to twirl. As he spun in the water, the whirling movement wrapped the remainder of the line around his mouth, drawing the top down and locking his jaws shut. 

Safe now from the baying mouth, Ham grabbed onto the tail with Shem. Together, the men wrestled the animal to shore where they bound the writhing tail and legs.

They sank onto the alligator’s back.

“Thought I was . . . ,” Shem wheezed, coughing and catching his breath, “a goner.”

Ham nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. Sorry.” His eyes were the size of a full moon and his body quaked visibly.

Shem didn’t know precisely to whom the “me, too” referred or exactly what his brother was apologizing for. He only knew he wanted to pop Ham in the nose. He valiantly fought the urge. “I considered dragging the gator into the grass by myself and feeding you to him.”

Ham released a weak laugh and Shem could tell his brother recognized the undercurrent of truth in the joke.

“It’s cold,” Ham said. “We’re both soaked. I say we have enough papyrus for today.”

“No.” Shem said adamantly. “Father said all six camels. Two more to go.”

“He’ll never know the difference if we unload them before he sees them.”

Shem stared at his brother in disbelief. Ham was a disgusting slug of a man today. Not himself at all. “You know what Father says.”

Ham rolled his eyes like a spoiled teenager again. “I know. ‘Always work your hardest, but work for God without trying to impress people.’” He rose to his feet and gathered his dry clothing. “I’m not going to work for anyone today. I’m going home.”

“No you’re not.” Shem stood, prepared to fight. It wouldn’t take much to convince him to pummel his brother right now. “We need pith for rope. And Mother wants some for floor mats.”

“She’ll live without mats and we can use that field of flax by the house for rope.”

“Flax rope isn’t as strong as papyrus. You know that.”

“Strong enough if we let the crop mature.”

“Too late. Japheth and Ulla harvested the plants for linen today.”

“Then we’ll do like the people in the city and make rope from date fiber.”

Shem was starting to shake from cold now. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rubbed them to warm himself. Something must be really bothering Ham for him to be such a fungus. Strangely, at that very moment Shem decided to cut his brother some slack. His anger evaporated.

“Look.” Shem’s tone was kind but unyielding. “Father wants papyrus ropes because they’re stronger. He wants papyrus for scrolls so he can make copies of the Book of Enoch for each of us. Therefore, I, for one, am going to harvest papyrus for him. And I’m going to stop yammering and start working so I can warm up. You go home.”

He turned his back to Ham and strode toward the water. “I know you’re scared of snakes and alligators, but it’s too cold for more reptiles. That was a fluke.”

“I’m not scared of them. I just don’t like them,” Ham shouted at Shem’s back.

“Fine. You don’t like them.” Shem thrust his hands into the water and felt for a stem. “Go home. I’ll finish up here.” The safely-tied-up alligator still hunkered on the grass near Ham. “Don’t worry, I’ll untie our friend and let him loose before I leave.” Shem began slashing stems while unwelcome negative thoughts once again rolled though his head. After floating a number of stems in the water, he gathered them and turned toward the camels.

Ham stood at the top of the bank looking at him, hands on hips, sheepish expression on his face. He wore the dry clothes he’d picked up earlier. When Shem reached the shore, Ham lifted the papyrus from his brother’s arms without a word. Back to himself again, Shem hoped.

Still, Shem’s pessimistic thoughts didn’t fade. He wondered which would be most difficult during and after the Flood: his brother, the dangerous animals, or the loneliness. 

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Awake

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? There is not one.” Job 14:4

A shapeless voice seeped into Atarah's drugged slumber.“Wake up!’ Someone gripping her                shoulders . . . shaking her. “Wake up  . . .” The faint voice faded in and out. “Atarah!” Hands pulling . . . pushing . . . heavy darkness . . . . “Wake up.”            

Shua? Crying . . .  Gadreel ? Atarah struggled against numbing stupor. Leaded eyelids refused to open.

“Lady Elika!” Shua’s voice wooly. “Her eyelids fluttered.”

“Thank the gods!” Mother’s voice at a distance. “Thank the gods!”

 Quick footsteps. A cool hand stroking her face and hair. “Atarah!” Mother’s urgency drifted through the haze. “Dagaar’s due with another dose of sleeping drug any moment. Wake up!”

Atarah strained against the spidery threads of sleep that entwined her, tugging her back into nothingness.

“We’re losing her again.” She could barely

hear Mother’s voice now.  “Quickly! A            

wet cloth.” Hands grasped Atarah’s shoulders, shaking her again . . .  “Atarah, stay with …” Mother’s voice faded. 

Atarah undulated down into warm quicksand. Nympha pirouetting on the head of Ninlel . . .head thrown back in laughter . . . loose hair cascading to her ankles . . . kissing Gadreel  . . . gracefully tossing him from a balcony . . . Atarah screaming . . . screaming . . . open mouthed . . . soundless . . . pumping legs . . . Gadreel   . . . arms stretching toward Atarah as he falls . . . soundless cries  . . . twirling in slow motion . . . arms extended above her head . . . reaching for him . . . loud crying  . . .

            Shua’s voice sifted through the void swirling around Atarah. “Shhh, Gadreel . You mustn’t cry.”

            “No, let him,” Mother said.  “The sound seems to be rousing her.”  Atarah wrapped her mind around the child’s persistent cries, using them to pull upward. She fought, forcing open unfocused eyes. Concentrating on the blurred baby and the slave pacing the floor and bouncing him.

            “Only you can save Gadreel .” Mother sounded desperate, her face directly over her daughter’s.

            Atarah opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Slowly, she lifted a weighted hand and let it flop back onto the bed. Something terrible was about to happen . . .  but what?

            “Wake up, Atarah! Take Gadreel away from here.”

       Memory trickled back. Father. The library. She ran her tongue over thick, dry lips. “Gadreel ?” Did that husky whisper come from her?

            Mother held a cup of foul-smelling liquid under her nose and Atarah turned her face from the pungent odor.

      “Drink it.”  Mother’s voice was sharp. “You need it to wake up.”

      Yes. She had to wake up.

      Mother’s arm slipped behind her back, helping her to a sitting position while she tipped the cup to her lips. Atarah sipped, then shuddered. Ghastly.

       “You’ve been asleep for days,” Mother said. “Nympha will be here for Gadreel any

moment. She has asked the priests to come here to consecrate him for tomorrow’s sacrifice.”

            Tomorrow? Mother’s words wrenched Atarah back to reality. Fully conscious now, she understood the danger. Nympha had dedicated Gadreel to the gods and the child would die if Atarah didn’t rescue him.

 Nympha’s giggle drifted in from the hallway and panic flushed Atarah. 

“She’s coming for the baby,” Shua whispered through pale lips. “The gods help us.”

“God of Noah!” Atarah whispered. 

Mother snapped a look her direction. The look told Atarah she heard the prayer. As if he understood Atarah’s desperation, Gadreel began to shriek.

            From just outside the door, Nympha purred, “Do we really want to get him so soon? We could spend a few more minutes together first.”

      A masculine voice murmured something Atarah couldn’t quite make out and the door to Nympha’s bedchamber opened and closed. Nympha would be occupied elsewhere for a while.

            Mother gripped Atarah’s shoulders. “Hurry!”

            Atarah knew Mother and Shua would be killed if they were caught helping her. They risked everything. Atarah’s head throbbed even as gratitude overwhelmed her. “Mother, you shouldn’t be doing this. Father will…”   

“I can’t let my grandson die. The gods forgive me I won’t let them have Gadreel . If you hurry maybe no one will ever find out I helped.”

Atarah tried to stand, but her knees wobbled and she sank back onto the bed. “I can’t. My head is spinning.”

“Fight.” Determination hardened Mother’s voice. “Get moving and it’ll help the sleeping potion wear off.”

            Shua set Gadreel on Atarah’s lap. She kissed the top of his head, but didn’t have enough arm strength to hold onto him. Shua hoisted him up where he could place an open-mouthed kiss on Atarah’s chin. Immediately, he stopped crying and snuggled into his aunt with the slave supporting him.

“I need more time,” Atarah murmured.

Voices floated in from the balcony outside that ran the length of the private quarters. Her sister and a male companion ambled past the windows of the double exterior doors and leaned against the balustrade, never taking their eyes from one another. Atarah stiffened then breathed a sigh of relief as they moved out of her line of vision. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. 

“That buys us a little time,” Shua whispered.

 “No! You mustn’t wait any longer.” Mother said.

“We can’t leave by the balcony stairs now. They’ll see us!” Shua argued.

 “Dagaar’s late with Atarah’s drug, but he could show up any moment.” Atarah noted Mother didn’t reprimand Shua’s insolence. The two women worked together as unlikely equals today.

Apparently remembering that Atarah was finally alert enough to comprehend, Mother explained. “I sent him on an errand, but that won’t delay him much longer.” She edged to the balcony doors and peeked outside.

“Dagaar has kept me drugged?”

A shadow passed over Mother’s face.

“At your father’s instructions,” Shua said.

A sense of betrayal and loneliness flickered through Atarah, but she pushed it away. No time for indulging in self pity. She eased Gadreel off her lap, kissed his cheek and rose from the bed, holding Mother’s arm to steady herself.

“Change of plans,” Mother said. “Balcony’s out of the question.”

Shua sat on the bed and pulled the baby onto her lap.

While Shua entertained the baby, Mother quickly helped Atarah out of her silk tunic. “I’ll call a meeting of the household slaves. While I keep them busy, you leave by the secret door in my chambers.” She handed a brown slave tunic to her daughter.

“But we have to walk right past the main stairs to get there and Dagaar will see us.” Atarah dragged the rough fabric over her head and paused, panting from the effort.

“I’ll try to divert his attention.” Mother tugged down the tunic then held onto Atarah’s arm, supporting her as she tested wobbly legs.

“Father will never let you do this.”

“He can’t stop me. He’s not here,” Mother responded grimly.

The determination in Mother’s voice, along with the feel and smell of the unfamiliar itchy fabric, made Atarah wonder what the future held for all of them.

Shua stayed near them to keep the baby close to his aunt so he wouldn’t start crying again. “Your color is returning,” she said approvingly.

Atarah heard the downstairs entry door open and then Dagaar’s voice. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Urgency surged through her, pumping power into her limbs. She grabbed Gadreel from Shua and shifted him to her hip.

Throwing her free arm around Mother’s neck, she buried her face in the graying hair to say her farewells. Mother wrapped both arms around her daughter and grandson and for a brief moment they held each other. “I’ll never see you again.” Atarah’s voice, choked with tears, was barely audible. She could feel her mother trembling.

 “I love you, my sweet.” Mother kissed Atarah and Gadreel before she drew away, tears coursing down her cheeks. She looked forlorn, as though the world was coming to an end. “Goodbye, precious lamb,” she whispered to Gadreel, using Atarah’s pet name for him.

Dagaar’s footsteps continued up the stairs. Trapped.

 “Hurry!” Shua hissed.

Mother stroked her grandson’s head one last time, then turned abruptly and strode toward the door. She hesitated with her hand on the metal handle before squaring her shoulders and walking through the arched doorway, head held high. She closed the door behind her. Grief coiled around Atarah’s heart like a serpent. Mother’s hands would weave the dark colors of pain and loneliness into her carpet tonight.

“Dagaar,” Mother said just outside the door.“Assemble the slaves.”

     “I’ll tend to your daughter first.” Dagaar’s footsteps didn’t pause. 

      Atarah’s heart flipped and she met Shua’s eyes. They were big with fear. Mother spoke

again, sharply this time. The door handle moved almost imperceptibly, and Atarah guessed Mother was holding it closed. Dagaar muttered something Atarah couldn’t make out.

     “You will call the other slaves to the Room of Candles.”  Mother’s adamant tone demanded obedience. “You can handle your other tasks after we’ve finished.”

     The footsteps paused. “I will not disobey my master.” Rebellion congealed in Dagaar’s

voice.

    “You will obey me.”

    “Will you answer to your husband then?”

    “Call the slaves. Now!”

    Atarah felt a rush of pride at the resolute way Mother whipped words like a sword.Where had her sudden courage come from? Slowly, Dagaar’s footsteps descended the stairs followed by Mother’s lighter ones. Outside, opposite Atarah’s rooms, Nympha and her companion crossed the balcony on their way back to her chamber.

      Shua waited for a couple of beats before binding Gadreel to Atarah’s stomach with a          

long brown scarf that functioned as a sling. She could now move hands-free.

“Hurry! Balcony’s clear.”

“No.” Atarah had her wits about her now. “Nympha might go back out there for some reason. We’ll stick to Mother’s instructions.”

“We’ve defied the gods and we’re going to die,” Shua moaned.

With the baby comfortably in front of her, Atarah dropped back onto the bed, suddenly faint. Shua pawed through her bag and held a wedge of cheese toward Atarah. She scowled and pushed the food away.

“Eat.” The command sounded strange coming from a slave accustomed to taking

orders. “You’ll need your strength.” She was right. Atarah had no idea when she’d eaten last.

Behind the thick door, she could hear the voices of slaves filing through the downstairs toward the Room of Candles and Mother’s meeting. Occasionally the low hum of voices wafted in from Nympha’s bedchamber. Now was the time to eat what she could force down.

While she reluctantly nibbled cheese, Shua outlined the plan of escape she and Mother had concocted during Atarah’s sleep. They would first make their way to a secret passage leading from the slave quarters to a covered alley. From there, they’d have to find a way through the city wall. Something Atarah had always heard was impossible.

The buzz of voices from the floor below faded and Atarah opened the door a crack

to check the hallway. Cradling her nephew, she rocked from side to side quieting him, hoping he wouldn’t scream again once they started. Even if he remained silent, they had only a slim chance of pulling this off.

“How many earthquakes while I slept?” Atarah asked as she listened.

“I lost count.”

“Did boulders block the passage from the slave quarters during the first one?”

“Yes, but the path got more treacherous with each additional quake.”

“You’re sure we can get through?”

“I spent nights digging out rubble while the other slaves slept. The passage still looks blocked, but there’s enough space for us to squeeze through since we’re both small. Of course we’re in trouble if another quake hits.”

Shua indicated the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Food. In case we need to modify our plans. I have more hidden along the way. As soon as we get past the wall behind the summer kitchen, I’ll lead you out of the city over the route only a few slaves know.” She pulled a brown scarf over her hair.  “If we don’t go now we won’t make it.”

Appreciation for Shua rushed through Atarah, but she said only, “I’m ready,” and tightened her hold on Gadreel. He was already asleep.

Carefully, she cracked open the door. Mother’s muffled voice rose from below. Atarah inhaled deeply through her nose then exhaled. “We can’t wait any longer.” For the first time in her life, she drew a brown slave scarf over her hair, grateful the rough scarf would keep anyone from recognizing her as the daughter of an aristocrat.

Shua looked at her grimly. “Think you can keep your baby quiet?”   

“I hope so.”  Warmth spread through Atarah at the term “your baby.” She angled her face away so the slave wouldn’t see her smile, but she knew Shua understood the impact of those words on her mistress. They were Shua’s way of encouraging Atarah.

The two women entered the hallway. Two cubits ahead, the main staircase wound

down to the entry on the main floor. Ararah looked quickly left. Nympha’s door remained tightly shut. Still safe. Past her sister’s chambers, at the far end of the hallway, the entrance to Father’s private library stood open, but the interior of that room was dark. Not a threat. The closed door on the other side of the library led to Father’s spacious chambers and usually stayed locked. Also no problem.

The difficulty lay in the fact that Mother’s chambers occupied the opposite end of the hallway, to the right of Atarah’s room. Atarah would have to walk past the stairs to reach Mother’s door, but they had to go to Mother’s room.

With no walls separating them from the lower level, Mother’s voice rose clearly from below. Atarah could see Dagaar leaning against the door frame of the Room of Candles, his back to them. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she tiptoed past the winding stairway in full view of anyone who might happen to glance her way. She kept fear-filled eyes fastened on Dagaar, praying he wouldn’t turn around. He didn’t. Every slave faced away from them, listening to Mother’s speech. Bless her!

Atarah kept her breathing shallow and nearly silent as they crept the length of the

corridor. Reaching Mother’s chambers, she eased open the door. The hinges didn’t squeak.

“Praise the gods!” Shua whispered as soon as the door closed behind them.

Atarah released a shaky breath. “We have to move quickly.” They crossed the room, hurrying past Mother’s bed hung with opulent red velvet brocade tapestries.

On one side of the room, windows and double doors led to the outside balcony that ran the length of the second floor. Atarah peeked out to make certain Nympha hadn’t reappeared. The balcony was empty.

            “We can use the outside stairs now.” Shua started for the balcony doors. “That’ll be faster.”

“No!” In charge once again, Atarah placed a restraining hand on the slave’s arm. “It’s not safe. We’ll stick to the plan.”

She led the way to a fireplace flanked by mahogany paneling. Pressing on the face of a lion carved into the wood, she slid open a secret door. The two women slipped through and Atarah closed the door behind them. They found themselves on a rickety landing in a dimly lit passage. Atarah had been here before, but not for years.

When she was a child, Mother made a game of teaching Atarah and Nympha how to quietly hide inside this secret space from imaginary intruders. Mother taught them the game herself since she couldn’t allow even her most trusted slaves to know of the hidden place. They practiced over and over. Sometimes Mother would playfully awaken them in the middle of the night to play. The game had been fun, but eventually Atarah caught on that Mother feared real danger from gangs or giants. As a result this place made Atarah uneasy.

“Mother thought ahead to light a torch for us.” The recognition of her mother’s foresight along with the familiar musty odors from childhood brought a choke of emotion. “The darkness down here feels like a solid wall when there’s no torch burning.”  

They made their way carefully down the uneven steps that would lead into a place concealed by bushes under the balcony. Atarah trailed her hand along the wall to avoid a misstep. Feeling the warmth of breath where her lips rested against the line of curls on Gadreel ’s head, she wondered who was comforted more by the touch, her or the sleeping baby?

The small door to the outside scraped noisily over loose stones when Shua pushed

it open. Atarah sucked in her breath hoping no one heard. She squinted against the sudden burst of bright light and peered outside. The sight in the garden ahead stunned her.

Chapter Five

The Trial

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“When Lamech had lived 182 years, he fathered a son and called his name Noah, saying, ‘Out of the ground that the LORD has cursed this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands.’ Lamech lived after he fathered Noah 595 years and had other sons and daughters.”

            Noah’s sons proceeded to the city gate at daybreak hoping to speak with Father before his trial. Shem’s stomach rumbled with hunger at the smells wafting from the open market, already bustling with early-risers. Inexpensive meat, left over from temple sacrifices, roasted over open fires. Bakers pulled cakes from earthen-dome ovens. Booths piled high with yellow corn, mounds of red papayas and oranges tantalized him.

      “We could grab a piece of fruit and eat it on the way,” Ham suggested.

      “No time. We’d have to haggle over the price.”

At the city gate, heavily-armed guards patrolling the area refused to allow them access to the dungeon. The brothers retreated into the shadows and leaned against a cold stone wall, waiting for the outer gate to open so Ham could return home as Father had instructed. Shem found himself wondering what would happen if Ham stayed. Could the two of them together do something – anything – to save Father?

“I won’t leave.” Pain lingered in the depths of Ham’s eyes and Shem felt a flash of affection for his brother. “I may never see him again.”

 “You’ll disgrace Father.” Shem’s matter of fact tone belied the intense conflicting emotions he battled, but this was no time for wavering resolve. “Father trusts God and it will break him if we don’t show our trust also.”

But Shem wasn’t so sure he did trust God. The odds against Father were stacked too high. God couldn’t possibly rescue him this time. What influential person would care enough to satisfy the legal requirements by standing up for Father and paying the cost of his release?

Rizpah, Father’s childhood playmate?

Not likely. Wasn’t she the one responsible for the charges against him?

A small detachment of guards arrived and the heavy outer gate creaked open.  “Time to go,” Shem said.

“If you have a chance to talk to him,” Ham’s voice broke, “tell him . . . tell him. . .”

       Shem pulled Ham to him in a brusque farewell embrace before he climbed the stairs to the walkway at the top of the city wall. He leaned against the chest-high masonry, arms resting on the ledge, watching the receding form of his brother. A caravan trudging up to the city passed Ham, but the usually-gregarious brother didn’t acknowledge them.

A twinge of nostalgia mingled with sadness swept over Shem as he watched his brother thread his way down the mountain and disappear around a bend in the road. Shem couldn’t help remembering trips to the tar pits with Ham, Japheth, and Father to gather pitch for waterproofing the ark. He’d enjoyed them only slightly more than the forays into the forest with mother to collect herbs for drying and storing in the ark.

Voices from below interrupted Shem’s reverie. Before he descended the stairs and crossed to the Chamber of Justice, he craned his neck for one last look at the ark in the clearing on the very highest point of the opposite mountain. The ark stood as a massive memorial to the One True God. A memorial to Father’s obedience. Even from so far away the ark looked massive. He lifted his chin with pride. Father had succeeded in one thing: No one in the city could avoid thinking about Noah’s God.

The ark spoke out for the One True God every day.

      People were already filing into the chamber in groups of threes and fours by the time Shem stole in unnoticed and pressed against the back wall, waiting for his father’s hearing to begin. The sounds of agitated voices echoed through the large elaborately-furnished room.

     The entire place had been constructed of natural rock. The judge’s podium, chiseled from a single block of black stone and polished to a high shine, rose from the center of the room. Grapes entwined with vines and leaves wrapped around the rim of the piece. On one side of the judge, at floor level, stood a stool of the same material. Behind a barrior separating the judge’s platform from spectators, rows of seats ran the circumference of the courtroom. Most were smooth marble benches, but directly in front of the judge’s podium Shem could see several large seats with high curved backs. Colorful embroidered cushions adorned the seats. While the people sitting on the benches behind the judge might see nothing more than the his back, the people occupying those privileged places would have eye-contact, and influence, with the judge. Shem fully expected to see Rizpah and her cronies enter and lay claim to them.           

Shem took his place at the end of the back row in the section facing the judge. If Father sat on the witness stool, Shem would be able to see his face during the trial.

The hall filled and the mood grew openly angry. Everyone seemed focused on attaching blame for all the city’s recent problems on Noah. They blamed him for the earthquakes and the changing weather. They blamed him for their business failures. They despised him because he accused them of evil and violence. 

      “Hatred bursts from the man like hot lava from a volcano,” a man directly in front of Shem shouted to the noisy crowd. Scattered applause came from the few who could hear him above the clamor. 

       “Not after today.” A sneer hardened the face of the woman beside him.

        Shem marveled at the irony of the name of the hall, Chamber of Justice. Father would get no justice here today; everyone present intended to kill him. And Shem, alone in a gathering mob, was helpless to stop it. Even if Father were to change his mind and allow Shem to help, what could one man do against such a crowd? Reasoned logic wouldn’t faze anyone present, and a sword wouldn’t fare much better.

      With all seats occupied and the trial ready to commence, Rizpah floated in wearing her signature crimson robe with dark embroidery at the neck. Nodding to onlookers on either side of the aisle, she led her entourage to the plush seats in front of the judge’s podium. The room quieted. Before settling herself she pivoted slowly, eyes searching the room until they came to rest on Shem. She arched her eyebrows to acknowledge him briefly before she flowed into her seat.

The room rustled with the sound of people twisting in their seats to follow her line of vision. All hopes of the safety that results from anonymity vanished. Shem muscles tensed. He clenched his fists in order to maintain control and stared straight ahead.

The judge entered and claimed his position of authority at the podium. “Are the witnesses present?”

One of the men flanking Rizpah spoke. “They are.”

“Bring in the accused.” The judge banged his gavel.

Soldiers escorted Noah into the courtroom, two leading, two behind and one beside him. Though obviously injured and stiff from two weeks in the dungeon, Noah walked slowly, but erect. His hands and feet remained shackled causing him to stumble every time the soldiers jostled him. Noah’s eyes searched out his son and crinkled with pleasure when he spotted him.

The scene felt dreamlike to Shem. Nightmarish. What had happened to his strong father who lifted beams single-handedly into place on the ark? Where was the man who plowed with seven teams of oxen? Why had Noah stopped resisting evil? Why wouldn’t he at least let his son fight for him?

Noah sat on the backless stool reserved for the accused. The desire to rush to the front and stand by his father gripped Shem. He involuntarily shifted forward, but clenched his fists and forced himself to stay put. The physical effort drew a line of sweat across his brow.

The judge called for witnesses.

Rizpah stood, her silk garments contrasting sharply with Noah’s worn goat hair tunic. When the judge gave her permission to speak, Rizpah’s satiny tones mesmerized her audience. “This man Noah threatened my life as well as the lives of other city officials.”

      A man in a turban fastened with a large blue topaz confirmed her testimony.

      Another gentleman near the end of the row rose to his feet. “You know the sacrifice my family is making for this crisis.” His voice thickened with sorrow and he dropped his head to compose himself so he could continue. “How dare we let this rabble-rouser go free when my innocent Gadreel gives everything?”

      “Can anyone refute these witnesses?” The judge surveyed the room.

      Shem locked eyes with his father who shook his head nearly imperceptibly.

      The judge rolled up his scroll and tapped the parchment on the hard edge of the podium. “Very well then. Noah son of Lamech, son of Methuselah, you must die.” 

      Shem felt like a camel had kicked him in the gut.

      “Would the prisoner speak in his own defense?” the judge asked.

      “I would.” Noah’s voice rang strong. His shackles prevented him from rising without help so he addressed the crowd from the stool. “Disaster is immanent. The One True God loves you, but you serve false gods that have no power to save or help you. Believe on the One True God and escape the Flood.”

      The crowd exploded and the soldiers guarding Noah closed rank around him.

Noah shouted above the roar. “There’s room on God’s ark for all of you!”

      Suddenly Shem understood. Father had deliberately chosen this time and place to plead with as many souls as possible. The public trial might risk his life, but it offered hope to many who might not have heard him otherwise.

      Rizpah’s face contorted. “He believes himself superior to us!” 

Calls of, “Kill him!” “Butcher the hate monger!” rumbled through the room.

      Extra soldiers muscled into the crowd, but the pandemonium thundered unchecked. Noah tried to speak. The crowd drowned him out. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly.

Finally, the room quieted and the judge spoke to Noah. “Your own words condemn you.” His lip curled in disgust. “I knew your father, Lamech. Good man. I praise the gods who in their mercy gathered him home to his fathers five years ago and spared him the shame of seeing you, his oldest son, the son he called his “comfort”, so filled with rebellion and stubbornness. His heart would break.”

      Shem couldn’t believe his ears. Grandfather Lamech had lived with the family, hammered nails into the ark, waterproofed it with pitch. After he grew too full of years to leave his bed, he still snapped green beans for canning and prepared apples for drying.

      “Your property now belongs to our great city” The judge banged the gavel twice to conclude the matter. “You shall die in our great temple before the sun sets unless, as the law states, a person of great influence redeems you.”

      Shem sat unmoving. Helpless. Numb. He should obey Father and leave, but he could not move.

      There was a commotion at the doorway and a large man with silver streaking his beard and gold threads woven into the collar of his striped tunic appeared under the arch. The crowd parted and he moved with authority to the front of the room, his head held high. A condescending smirk played over his face. Jeweled rings adorned every finger. “I am Paseah, judge of Heber.” 

Shem recognized the name and heat rushed into his face. 

“I choose to redeem this man.” Paseah snapped his fingers and a slave leading a heavily-loaded camel appeared in the door of the Chamber of Justice. Thick gold chains draped the camel’s neck. Bells tinkled from just above padded hooves. “What’s his price?” 

“Ten thousand dremata,” the judge answered. Few earned that sum in a lifetime.

Silence descended on the chamber.

The crowd stared openmouthed as Paseah reached into his camel’s saddlebag and began counting gold and silver coins onto the podium. Shem could hear nothing but the clink, clink, clink of coin after coin dropping onto the mounting pile. Heaped-up gold spilled over the edge and clattered to the floor.

Why was he doing this?

Deliberately, Paseah lifted a single coin between his thumb and forefinger and held it over his head. “One thousand dremata.” He dropped it from that height onto the pile as his gaze slid around the room. “Any of you worth so much?” His mouth curved upward, but his eyes glinted with the hardness of black diamonds. 

He started a second pile on the floor in front of the judge. When he finished, the camel’s adornments and two of the man’s bulky rings lay with the ten mounds of coins.  “Ten thousand dremata,” he announced triumphantly.

The judge placed the scroll into Paseah’ hand. “Noah is yours.” He spat the words like a man expelling poison.

No one spoke. Shem held his breath.

The soldiers unshackled Noah. 

And it was over! Just like that.

Stunned, Shem followed his father and Paseah from the room followed by the slave leading the camel. Shem stole a furtive look over his shoulder and saw Rizpah, surrounded by the subdued mob, glaring at them angrily. Not one person had moved.

Outside the courtroom they joined the caravan Shem had watched enter the city just before the trial. Without a word, Paseah mounted a camel and motioned for Noah to mount another. Shem tried to help him, but Noah shook him off and managed the feat without assistance. The two men rode to the iron gate and out of the city. Shem walked behind them in front of several slaves and camels, one of which no longer carried a load. Like a sleepwalker, he moved down the winding road he had watched Ham travel earlier.

No one spoke until they crossed the meadow and started up the ark’s mountain. With the city out of sight and almost a distant memory, Noah and the stranger dismounted and embraced. “I thought I would never see you again,” Noah said. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“Nor I you,” responded Paseah, “though I do think of you whenever I pass this way and view your disgrace on the top of that mountain.” 

“Come here, Shem.” Ignoring the stranger’s insult, Noah beckoned his son. “I want you to meet my youngest brother who I love more than life.”

“You are the oldest son, are you not?” Shem heard little warmth in his words.

“Yes.”  How did he know? 

“I’ve heard all about you from the locals. Whenever I pass this way on business, they are only too happy to discuss Crazy Noah and his family.”

“They know you’re Father’s brother?” Shem asked.

 Paseah tipped back his head and let loose with a belly laugh. “Of course not! I would never share that information with anyone.”

Shem wasn’t quite certain how to react to this newly-found uncle who was willing to give up a fortune to save his father’s life while insulting him every chance he got. “How can I thank you for what you did?” he said.  “God used you to rescue my father!”

Paseah spat on the ground. “God had nothing to do with anything. I alone am responsible.” His tone softened. “I owed my brother.”

Noah interrupted, “What brings you to our part of the world?” Shem recognized Father’s reaction as Noah’s way of avoiding the embarrassment of praise.

“I’m here because of a series of coincidences.”  Paseah mused. “Strange. Very strange.”

      Noah pointed at a bubbling spring a short distance from the trail and the brothers sat down on large rocks where they could catch up. Without a word, one slave filled a skin of water for Paseah and Noah before watering the camels. Another slave immediately hobbled the camel that had carried Paseah’ gold into the Chamber of Justice then dodged as the animal flattened its ears and hurled at him. A glob of spittle nearly as large as his fist darkened the ground inches from his feet. The slave scowled and retreated to a safe distance.

      The camel was without question the biggest and nastiest Shem had ever seen. 

“Coincidences?” Noah asked. 

“Well, five days ago, a runner came to my neighbor’s house offering an opportunity to make a great deal of gold. My neighbor is greedy and would never have shared the information, except . . . ” Paseah grinned. “His wife died the week before and the mourning period wasn’t over, so he couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity. Plus, I needed to search for a runaway out this direction.

 “So,” Paseah continued cheerfully, “I agreed to make the trip and consummate the deal. He thought we could share everything.” He grinned slyly and leaned toward Noah. “And I just might if there’s anything left after paying my brother’s fine.” 

A shudder of distaste skimmed Shem’s
heart. Uncle was very different from Father. “You’ve got that same self-righteous look on
your face your father always used to

have.”

Shem colored. “I’m sorry I didn’t . . .”

“You think I cheated my neighbor?” Paseah’ question was aggressive as well as rhetorical. “I risked danger from robbers and injury. Did he? No.”

 “We’re not criticizing you brother,” Noah’s stepped in. Shem could tell he desperately wanted this reunion to go well. “Tell us the rest.”

“There’s not much left.” Paseah relaxed and launched into his story again as though nothing had happened. He appeared to love the sound of his own voice. “I gathered a few slaves and camels, traveled here and transacted my business. Fortunately for you, as we were passing the Chamber of Justice we heard you hysterically offering rides on your ark. I decided to treat old Buzz with kindness by lightening his load.”

Paseah smiled and winked, seeming for the first time since they left the city as the gracious gentleman who had rescued Noah. He slapped his brother on the back. “You sound exactly like you did four hundred years ago.” 

The ups and downs of his uncle’s personality left Shem dizzy. “Buzz is the camel?”

“Yup. That humungous nasty disaster of a camel was carrying the gold I paid for your father. Meanest camel I ever owned, but I think it’s the meanness that makes him so strong. He carried a thousand dremata in gold like a load of feathers.”

“Where’d you buy him?” Noah asked.

Paseah laughed again. “Didn’t. I took him from a slave trader who made a habit of beating the poor thing until he bled. Found Buzz standing over him by the side of the road early one morning. The fellow was dead. Looked like he’d been trampled. I figured maybe he beat old Buzz one too many times, but you never know. Could have been robbers.”

They proceeded up the trail toward home again, Paseah walking between Noah and Shem with slaves leading the camels a respectful distance behind. Buzz, his legs unshackled, moved forward with a rocking motion, ears flat against his head, shouldering another load of gold taken from two other camels to ease their loads.

“You haven’t said anything about the coincidences.” Paseah said.  “Impressed?”

Noah beamed. “Don’t you see? Coincidence didn’t bring you here. God did. He wove circumstances so we’d meet again.”

Paseah narrowed his eyes and bunched his lips.

Noah didn’t notice. “God has given you one more chance!”

“God!?” Paseah snapped. “I’m the one who saw you in the court room. I paid my good money to rescue you because you wasted your own fortune on that monstrosity up there.” Red-faced he nodded toward the top of the mountain. “You’re just like Father. You have no common sense. The shame you created for the family forced me to relocate.”

Noah recoiled as though his brother had struck him. Shem half-expected a red welt to rise on Father’s cheek. Shem understood Noah’s pain. Father was terrified that his own brother might die in the Flood.